


Keen

by InuShiek



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Cock Rings, Collars, Forced Orgasm, Leashes, M/M, Master/Pet, NSFW, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Slash, Sticky, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 03:55:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2295740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InuShiek/pseuds/InuShiek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl and Jazz like to play a game with one another in the berth. Unfortunately, Jazz likes to break the rules of their game, and Prowl will leave him unfulfilled as punishment. Not tonight though. Tonight, Jazz is determined to be a good pet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keen

**Author's Note:**

> I'm jumping on the pet play wagon...... and it's long as fuck compared to my other fics. holy christ.
> 
> there MAY be a chapter 2 one day.... MAYBE. I've got more ideas for this, but I got tired of writing....

Jazz whines again from his place on the floor. Prowl has been doing busy work for ages, and he’s been ignoring the mech tethered to his desk the whole time. When Prowl had collared him, Jazz had happily slid down to all fours and followed after the mech. He’d expected to go straight through the SIC’s office and get to see what the mech had planned in the berth and maybe get the overloads he wanted.

Instead. Prowl had tied his leash to a leg of his desk, sat down, and started condensing reports for Optimus Prime’s later review.

The special ops mech had stared in disbelief for several long minutes, hoping that maybe Prowl was just putting on a show.

He wasn’t.

Of course, Jazz had attempted to get close enough to tease Prowl into playing with him with his glossa, but the Datsun had intentionally shortened his leash before tying it so that it was impossible. Then Jazz had tried pawing at Prowl’s leg with his hand. Also unsuccessful.

Frustrated, Jazz had flopped to lie on his back and stare aimlessly at the ceiling for a long while. He knew that if he spoke the evening would be over, and that was the last thing that he wanted.

Then he got an idea.

Now, Jazz maneuvers himself so that he can press his panel against Prowl’s leg. The leash is _just_ long enough for it, and the Porche quickly wraps his ankles around the busy mech’s calf, pulling it flush against his rapidly heating panel to grind against.

“Naughty,” Prowl mutters, but there’s no aggravation in his tone.

Jazz suddenly realizes this is what the mech had had planned all along. Not wanting to disappoint, his systems rapidly heat up and he retracts his panel, pressing his quickly lubricating valve flush against Prowl’s pede with a pleasant sigh.

The SIC finally casts his gaze toward Jazz. “And messy too.”

Arching his frame the way he knows Prowl likes, Jazz props himself up on his elbows. This causes the collar and leash to begin to choke him, and his faceplates flush with heat as his systems try to compensate for the lack of energon flow.

Prowl watches him for several long moments, the sensors in his pedes detecting the excessive amounts of lubricant that Jazz’s valve is making the longer he chokes himself. “ _Good_ bot,” he purrs when Jazz is forced to toss his helm back so that energon can once again flow to his processors. “Oh very well. I suppose reports can wait until the morning. Come,” he says, standing and walking toward the berthroom to hide his mischievous smirk.

Jazz automatically makes to roll up onto all fours, but the leash yanks on his neck. _Fragger forgot to untie him_. The mech whines, trying to get Prowl’s attention.

Schooling his faceplates into neutrality, Prowl turns to look back at the Porche. “Untie yourself- mouth only. Hurry, and you may get to overload.”

The mech has barely finished speaking before Jazz sets himself to untying the tangled mess of the knot that Prowl had given him to work with. Making a frustrated noise, the saboteur spins his aft around so that Prowl has a perfect view of his aft and open interface panel, spike ready and valve dripping, as he furiously tugs at various points on the knot hoping that it will begin to loosen.

“While the view of your wriggling aft is nice, you’re still on the clock, Jazz,” Prowl warns in a light tone, and the mech smiles as the wriggling of said aft intensifies.

With a triumphant huff, Jazz finally manages to untie himself and he bounds over to the Datsun, grinning excitedly as he presses his frame against Prowl’s legs and nuzzles the mech’s heated panel.

Patting Jazz on top of the helm, Prowl says, “Go wait by the berth.”

Snatching the leash between his denta so that it won’t drag the ground, Jazz makes his way to the berth. Once properly seated on the floor with his arms crossed behind his back, he casts his gaze back for Prowl, who is stowing the data pads in a secure drawer and double checking that his office door has remained locked. He quickly turns his helm forward again before Prowl returns to the berthroom.

“You must be desperate for an overload if you’re behaving _this_ well,” Prowl teases, rubbing one of Jazz’s sensor horns briefly before he seats himself on the berth in front of the mech. “Did a month without overloading really change your attitude?”

With a groan and a pleasant shiver, Jazz nods. The last several times they’ve done this, Jazz has been impatient and spoken, even though he knew perfectly well that speech on his part would stop everything in its tracks. Of course, the couple usually enjoys interfacing without all these bells and whistles, but Prowl doesn’t like to frag after Jazz breaks the rules of their little game. He likes to make Jazz wait until the next time they play so that there’s more motivation for the Porche to behave himself.

No normal fragging, no self-servicing, and no less than thirteen occasions breaking the rules has left Jazz without an overload for over a month.

Prowl takes the leash from Jazz’s mouth and lets the end of it trail along the mech’s spike, pulling a high pitched cry from him. “Hmmm, I think you may be _too_ wound up. If I let you swallow my spike, you may overload without even being touched,” he muses aloud, still letting the leash tease Jazz’s spike.

Jazz’s visor flashes with arousal. The idea of being allowed to take Prowl’s spike down his intake has the Porche squirming almost as much as the leash teasing his own fully pressurized spike. With a quiet moan, Jazz presses his helm against Prowl’s thigh, licking his dermas in anticipation. When the servo not holding his leash cups his faceplates, Jazz easily leans back at the gentle urging.

When he has Jazz leaning back so far that he’s straining not to fall over backwards, Prowl trails his servo down the mech’s neck, across his chassis, and slowly makes his way down to slip a single digit through the messy valve. He applies just enough pressure to give some pleasure to the mech for good behavior thus far, but he pulls away quickly. Before Jazz can start squirming, Prowl pulls the leash taught. The Porche naturally assumes that Prowl is pulling him forward, but a servo cupping his neck and pushing him back stops him. “Stay where you are,” Prowl murmurs, engine rumbling pleasantly as he begins wrapping the end of the leash around Jazz’s spike. “I’m just helping you continue to be a good bot.”

Whining, Jazz struggles not to tremble. Prowl ties the leash so that it will remain snug around the base of his spike no matter how he moves, and a spike overload will be out of the question until it’s untied. The Porche curses himself for the way his charge surges, only making him crave an overload more. A tug has him righting himself, and Jazz realizes that Prowl had bent him backward to tie his spike so that he’d have slack in the leash and thus freedom of movement while upright. Prowl is nothing if not thoughtful and devious in how he manipulates Jazz’s frame.

The tactician hums, and Jazz’s attention is immediately focused on him and him alone. Inspecting the digit he’d dragged through the kneeling mech’s valve a moment earlier, the Datsun finally opens his own panel and wipes the lubricant across his spike. “Clean that up.”

Jazz’s engine revs happily as he scoots himself closer to the berth and licks a sloppy line from base to tip, leaving his arms crossed behind his back as they had been this whole time. In one smooth motion, the Porche opens his mouth wide and slides it down over Prowl’s spike, earning a grateful groan from him.

When Jazz goes to pull away, Prowl quickly sneaks his servo in to grasp the leash and hold him down on his spike. Jazz cries out in surprise when this also tugs on his spike, but it comes out as more of a gurgle with his dermas pressed firmly against Prowl’s plating. Swallowing, Jazz extends his glossa to stimulate more sensors in the Datsun’s spike, and Prowl releases his leash.

Squirming in gratitude, Jazz keeps his helm right where it is and begins swallowing rhythmically.

“ _Good bot_ ,” Prowl praises, once again rubbing one of the saboteur’s sensory horns.

Releasing a groan that turns into a gurgle as his spike throbs and valve clenches at the praise, Jazz redoubles his efforts. He begins alternating his swallows with a wriggling glossa and sucking Prowl’s spike, intent on pushing the mech into overload- his own temporarily forgotten despite the ache in his array.

He yelps when he’s suddenly shoved away, nearly losing his balance and tipping over backwards, but he dutifully keeps his arms crossed. Gasping cool air into his overheating frame, Jazz looks up into Prowl’s optics, confused.

Panting, Prowl’s doorwings quiver as he fights back his overload. “You are too good at that. Up,” he orders the Porche, likewise climbing further onto the berth rather than perching on the edge.

Jazz scrambles to obey the command, beaming at the praise as he climbs up onto the berth, pointing his aft conveniently at Prowl. He yelps when a playful slap is delivered to his plating, but then keens when a servo wraps around his still bound spike and firmly strokes it. Jazz lets his elbows collapse, leaving his aft in the air as he thrusts his spike through Prowl’s fist.

“Get up, pet. You’re not allowed to rest yet,” Prowl says, tightening his grip almost painfully until Jazz is once again on his hands and knees. “Good,” he praises, going back to stroking the desperate mech’s spike.

Without warning, Prowl’s other hand grasps Jazz’s collar and pulls the mech back onto his waiting spike. Shouting wordlessly, the Porche’s valve ripples around the spike, attempting to pull it in deeper for several long moments before the initial charge dies down, leaving Jazz panting to cool his systems.

Prowl leans over the quivering bot, pulling harder on his collar to force him to arch his neck and back. “Show me your trick, pet.”

Gasping at having to maintain the position and support Prowl’s weight, Jazz gathers his focus enough to purposefully clench his valve all the way from the entrance to his ceiling node, massaging the spike sitting stationary within it. He opens his mouth to ask the SIC to just frag him, but just barely manages to snap it shut and turn the noise into another desperate keen instead.

Not noticing Jazz’s near slip, the Datsun groans and grinds his spike harder into the mech beneath him. “Are you ready to overload for me, Jazz?”

Still working his valve around Prowl’s spike, Jazz nods as much as the tight hold on his collar will allow. His processors are beginning to slow their function as Prowl pulls harder, limiting their supply of energon. With a burst of static, Jazz presses himself back into the mech.

With a few short, sharp thrusts, Prowl pumps Jazz’s spike to help his charge along as he bites the mech’s neck, sending him into a powerful overload.

Shouting gratefully, Jazz can’t keep his arms underneath him and his chassis falls to the berth. The hold on his collar is released even though Prowl continues stroking his still pressurized spike. The saboteur squirms beneath the SIC with a loud keen, his spike aching at not being able to overload while his valve remains clenched tightly around Prowl.

“Such a good bot,” the Datsun coos as he shifts his grip, one servo holding onto one of Jazz’s hips while the other pins the saboteur’s helm down to the berth. “Once I overload, I’ll untie your spike if you’re good.”

As Prowl slowly pulls out, Jazz gasps sharply when post-overload sensitivity sets his sensors off with an unpleasant ache. He nods though, wanting to please Prowl and desperate to earn his spike some relief. Besides, being forced to repeatedly overload is one of his favorite things that Prowl does to him.


End file.
